Feeling the broken revolver bump against my bruises as I ran, I cursed not picking up the vory’s weapon. I slapped my feet against the ground and hurried, changing directions only to turn back on course, hoping to shake off any pursuers.
Between the cloister of warehouses and the river’s edge was the long, empty road that separated the two. Moonlit and desolate, it held nothing but the promise of being seen. I hid with my back against a brick wall and tried to listen, my own ragged breathing filling my ears.Â
The best I could hope for was the absence of headlights. When the dark went on without interruption, I sprinted across the road, coming to a skidding halt at the chains, nearly taking me over and down the embankment.
While I had cursed the moonlight in the alleys and streets, it may have been the only thing that kept me from tumbling off the narrow path down. I shuffled as quick as I could, small landslides kicking off from my feet.
I was relieved to see the door of the hutch slightly ajar, a warm light spilling out into the night’s cool air. As I got closer I could hear voices within, words being exchanged in tones high and animated.
I pushed into the room quickly, bringing it to silence. In the small space was everyone; all three of the voyous, Nika and Lanzo, Sophie’s head nearly bumping into the ceiling. She strode forward to cover my face with a flutter of soft kisses and I think I could have been happy to die right there.
As distracting as that was, I couldn’t help but notice Nika staring around the dirty and subterranean room with a barely controlled horror. Even emptied of garbage the place was still a hole.
The voyous were too busy backslapping to notice. Lanzo held Nika as her mouth began to move sporadically. I slipped out of Sophie’s hug and moved to Lanzo. I placed a firm hand on his shoulder and indicated Nika with my eyes. “We should get her inside.”
Cradling her in their uncertainty and fear, he nodded back at me, and I let him lead the way. A quick glance at Sophie told her to keep the two groups separate.
Once through the door, Nika let out a gasp. The glow of the fairy lights created an unreal, bright island under the city. She involuntarily stopped, unsure of the mirage Lanzo had conjured. When the vision of this subterranean boudoir persisted, Nika squeaked slightly, letting go of Lanzo’s hand to touch the bed.
Confirming its solidity, Nika laughed quietly, the sound echoing across the arched ceiling like it might in Old Town’s cathedral. She hopped backwards onto the bed, landing on her butt, laughing, causing Lanzo to join.
This spread from Nika to Lanzo to Sophie, the latter floating a hand to softly land on my back. As Nika pulled Lanzo close to the bed for a kiss, I couldn’t help but ruin things by whispering, “We’re going to need to change those sheets later.”
Sophie playfully slapped my arm, mock punishing my crudeness. I just let out a long breath into the illusion Nika could be safe here for awhile.
Lanzo surprised everyone by bending down to retrieve something hidden under the mattress’ comforters. Looking every bit like Simon’s old-school waiter, Lanzo came up with something piled high under a cloth, holding it as if it were on a platter. As Nika stared at it in confusion, he whipped off the cloth to reveal a motley stack of books.
It took me a moment to realize that Lanzo was presenting her with something to pass the time and, judging by the widening of her smile, one of her favorites. I let out a surprised grunt. I had assumed that Nika and Lanzo didn’t know each other well, a cynical part of me thinking their reuniting would end in disaster, that we’d be lucky if they got along long enough to get out of town. But here was proof that Lanzo knew something of Nika and that he cared enough to cater to those desires. She glowed nearly as bright as the fairy lights before bringing Lanzo in for another kiss.
This went on for awhile. When I heard the voyous chuckling like schoolboys I decided it was time to intervene. I stepped back to the main room and said, “You’ll be staying here for a few days. It’s not much but it’ll keep you safe and hidden till we can get you out of the country.”
Holding Lanzo on the bed between me and her, Nika stared at me. Standing within those ancient stone walls, I must have resembled some kind of golem, a barely formed hulk that was both useful and frightening. Feeling a need to fulfill this role, I added, “We’ll bring you anything you need.” I waggled a thumb between me and Sophie.
Nika’s uncertainty gave way to an animated joy, her eyes brightening as she let go of Lanzo to bump around on the mattress like a kid at Christmas. It made her seem even younger than she was. I felt a sudden tightness in my chest that I tried to banish but wouldn’t go.
I got Lanzo’s attention and swiveled my head back the way we came. “Walk us out.” He nodded, promising Nika he’d return shortly while she held onto him. He kissed her, clearly as reluctant to leave as she was to let him go.
Eyes back on me, she said, “I didn’t think they’d be able to follow me.”
I realized then she was embarrassed, that she was surviving the experience all young people must survive in realizing that they aren’t as smart as they think we are. I thought about the one long road down from Mitnick’s and his palatial part of town and wondered how she thought they wouldn’t be able to follow her. Instead of saying that, though, I lied. “They probably had a tracker on the car.” Maybe they did.
I don’t know if this consoled her, but she let Lanzo go. I walked him and the voyou back into the main room. I spoke to all four as if we were one happy squad. “You’re going to need to stay here full time for the next couple of days. If you need supplies, only one of you goes,” I floated a finger across the voyous. I pointed at Lanzo, “You stay here, no matter what.”Â
Everyone nodded and I gestured at Lanzo. “Let’s talk for a minute.” I sensed that the Idiots wanted to follow us, but Sophie interposing presence dissuaded them.Â
Outside of the hutch, there was the distant sound of police sirens and I let those fade away before I spoke. The dark reflexively caused my voice to drop to a whisper. “You going to be able to hold it together?” I asked Lanzo.
He responded with a, “Oui,” and a stare out into the night that made me doubt him.
“You’ve turned the tables.” Lanzo’s eyes softened with hope. “Keep her safe for a few days. Then the two of you will be gone and none of it will matter.”
I think Lanzo may have fingered the roll of Euros he had in his pocket. He nodded and I said, “Good.” I gestured to Sophie. “We’ll be back.”
The Bundhaus was not easily accessible. A few hours drive outside of Slakterquay, the journey took one from highway, to county road, to access road to, finally, a dirt road that led deep into the thick woods that surrounded the city. It was lovely, dark and deep forest, untouched by the logging that had helped build the city, leaving it quiet and pristine in its beauty.
Which would have been idyllic, except Aggie McPherson hated the outdoors, didn’t drive, and wasn’t looking forward to the appointment. Watching it from the second-story veranda of the Bundhaus, Haddo Skull could discern all of these things. Stepping out from the taxi, the detective carefully placed a well-polished shoe onto the wet gravel of the drive. Standing to full height, Aggie was short, narrow in shoulders and hips enough to be of indeterminate gender, the impression of which was only heightened by black spiky hair. Buttoning the jacket of a bespoke suit, the detective examined the surroundings, expression neutral until it fell on the house itself. Through his opera glasses, Haddo could see her expression curdle.
The well-tailored gray suit, to Haddo’s eye, was cut for a man, or perhaps a tall youth, and didn’t align with what Haddo thought a woman should wear. Particularly not a professional, as women had a limited number of functions. And this detective, he knew from investigations both mystic and mundane, straddled all of the domains meant for man and woman and perhaps more.
In fact, he hated the detective and all of her kind. However, he had need for her now.
On this rare occasion Bundhaus was empty, its front doors left open to the damp spring Pacific air. With the taxi idling in the drive, the detective strode in through massive wooden front doors and into the vestibule. On the floorboards that had been hewn from the virgin forest, she stopped, placed her hands in her pockets and waited.
Haddo gave McPherson several minutes in the entryway, waiting to see if her curiosity would get the better of her. However, she remained unmoved, alert just within the Bundhaus’ threshold.
The hall of the Bundhaus was two-stories and long, stretching the entire length of the wooden structure. It was dotted with doors on either side till it ended at a stage, flanked by red banners with silver shields. Normally, that was where Haddo would descend to meet the Legionnaires, to take the pulpit and speak to them about saving America from the mongrel hoard that beset her shores, to preach of the great destiny of Columbia.
However, when McPherson didn’t move, it necessitated Haddo take one of the two staircases that flanked the vestibule. His movements were no longer as swift as they once were and he would not suffer the indignity of hobbling down the long hall to meet her.
Normally, Haddo would be dressed in the ceremonial robes of his station, but doing so would only affirm too many of Aggie’s prejudices. So today Haddo had dressed in one of his finer suits he always wore for important auslanders. As he descended the stairs he was rather annoyed that, aside from the Mandarin collar on the detective’s suit, the two wore similar outfits.
It was not until his foot left the final step to touch the floor of the entryway that Aggie McPherson turned to meet his gaze. Her professionalism kept her face expressionless, but he could see contempt in those violet eyes. Her tone was neutral when she pronounced his name. “Haddo Skull.”  She looked around him as if he were flanked by invisible guards. “Where are your brown shirts?”
Haddo felt his own contempt pull at the edge’s of his mouth, but provided a restrained reply of, “The men who dedicate their lives to the Legion are called Silver Shields.”
Aggie eyed the red banners at the end of the hall, then back to Haddo. “You say tomato, I say Nazi.
“What am I doing here Haddo?”
“I have need of your services. Although, honestly, it took me some time to discern what those services are.” Even in his advanced age, Haddo towered over Aggie and so stepped closer. “Your office door may say Spectral Analyst but you reputation sprawls beyond mere specters. Exorcist? Fixer? Demonologist? Private investigator?” He added an extra dollop of sarcasm onto the last rubric, “Hero?”
Aggie gave him the scornful frown Haddo had been waiting for all along. Instead of rising to that, though, she replied, “How about you just call me detective?”
“I believe you prefer to be called Aggie.”
“You can call me McPherson.”
“Well, Ms. McPherson — “
“Just McPherson. Or detective. Take your pick.”
That stopped Haddo. He was prepared to deal with this person, whatever she might be, but he could only tolerate so much presumptuousness from this untermensch. He felt compelled to remind her, “You clearly know who I am. And yet you come here unarmed, unescorted and display such rudeness. The last makes the first two unwise.”
Aggie matched Haddo’s step towards her, seeming to grow taller as she did. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“Then you are a foolish woman indeed.”
Aggie stared up at him. “Haddo, what I am is not something I’m here to learn from you.” With a briskness that caused her brightly lacquered nails to leave trails in the dim air of the vestibule, McPherson pulled a small card from her blazer pocket. “You invited me here. What do you want?”
Haddo took the card from her, inspecting it as a conductor might a train ticket. Truth was, he simply didn’t want anyone else to ever see it. He knew it read:
Please come to the Bundhaus Estate on March 19 at 08:00. Grandmaster Haddo wishes to discuss an important matter of border science and its impact upon his health. You will be compensated for your time.
While Haddo disappeared the invitation into his breast pocket, McPherson said, “Border science. That’s not a term that’s been popular since the days of Hans Bender. And since I don’t think your old enough to have been kicking around with the sturmabteilung, I think you must be using it as code for something. Something you don’t want your silver shield buddies to know about.”
Haddo felt himself bridle at having his motives so easily deduced. He kept a chain on that beast, though, saving it for later. Instead, he turned his back on his guest and returned to the stairs. “If you want to know the answer, come this way.” He was very pleased when he heard McPherson follow him.
He led her to his office, softly illuminated by the balcony windows through which he had observed her. Tired of pretending his legs didn’t hurt, he sat down at the massive and ancient cedar desk. From behind its vast expanse he saw see the detective already waiting, examining the vitrine of keepsakes and curios that sat between the two windows of his balcony.
Haddo waited a long time for her to prompt him, but she said nothing. He wondered if she was always this patient. It was that or she had reasoned out that it was a matter of time until a Silver Shield returned. After what had happened with that idiot Cordell, that wouldn’t do. So, reluctantly Haddo began. “There is a Revenant seeking to throw me down into perdition.”
Without turning from his trophies, Aggie interrupted with a, “Oof. Tough luck. Those things are nasty.” Haddo was pleased that she demonstrated the required knowledge of what a revenant was and simultaneously annoyed at her having waited so long only to interject with something so pointless. At least, he reasoned, she wasn’t touching anything.
He continued, “It comes at me from the east, but slowly. Its movement is governed by something, but I know not what. Perhaps the sun or the moon.”
Aggie faced him, standing between the light streaming through the two windows. “How do you know this?”
“I have my means.”
“Then why can’t you deal with it yourself? Why call me?”
“It –” Haddo paused, uncomfortable in admitting weakness to this thing. He had come this far, though. “It is beyond my sight.”
“Then its cause is just. No one wants to come back as a revenant, Haddo. Most times it happens it’s ’cause an adept has some kind of conditional invocation prepared.” Aggie paused, then, “You murder any fellow cultists lately?”
“No.”
“Then someone summoned this thing from beyond the grave and has the power to hide it from you. Which is impressive on both counts as trying to hide the necromantic energy needed to summon a revenant is like trying to hide a forest fire under a lampshade.”
“Yes.”
“So you offended a very powerful individual. Or daeva or daimon. Or god. Or, you know, God.”
“Are you suggesting my crusade against the heathen has angered God himself?
“The Christian God? I don’t know. I’ve never spoken to Him. But He did tell Moses, “You shall have no other gods before Me.” That doesn’t preclude the existence of other gods. Quite the opposite. Take my word for it.”
Haddo silently added heathen and blasphemer to the list of sins of his guest. Instead of speaking to that, though, he replied, “So now you know why I requested your presence.”
McPherson broke from the case she had been observing and smoothly moved into one of the two leather chairs that faced Haddo’s desk, draping arms from it. “Haddo, why would I help you?”
“Presumably, for money.”
“Everybody’s gotta pay the rent, sure. But why would I risk tainting my own soul with whatever you’ve done to bring this Revenant down on you?”
Haddo had expected this. But self-righteousness could be so easily redirected. “That church on King Street that you’ve shown an interest in? The one with the half-breeds, perverts, and heretics?”
The hardening in Aggie’s eyes told him he had hit his mark. “If you’re referring to Reverend Taggart’s church, I know it.”
“Help me with this and I’ll have the Legion leave that pathetic rabble alone.”
McPherson tilted her head at Haddo as if examining something under a microscope that was particularly stupid. “Taggart is a loup-garou. He could tear you and your little nazi clubhouse into bits.”
“If he was going to, he would have done it by now.”
“You willing to bet on that?”
Haddo smiled at McPherson. “The question is, are you?”
McPherson straightened up in her chair, examining Haddo anew. Haddo didn’t like it, but he held his smile. The sun moved along his office carpet before she quickly stood, belying the lax position she had been in. Haddo felt something vibrate in the air, but this resolved when McPherson broke eye contact to button her jacket. “I’ll do it. On three conditions.”
Haddo’s grin grew broader. “What would those be?”
“First, you do as you say and keep your filthy little machinations away from the Taggart’s church.”
“Of course.”
“If I so much as catch wind of you near that place, I’ll find this Revenant and point it right at you.”
Haddo nodded, conceding he would not want this. “And?”
“There’s a condo in LoDo. You’re going to buy it for me.”
“Outrageously expensive. And I don’t want you to give me the cash value. I want you to buy the condo. In your own name. Then I want you to sign it over to me.” McPherson stepped through the light to stand across from Haddo’s desk. “No shell companies, no financial chicanery. A straight transfer from you to me, in black and white.”
“I see,” Haddo replied and he did. The transfer would be both payment and insurance policy. He eyed this violet-eyed imp, mapping out the contingencies and blackmail that she was planning by placing these conditions. “And if I agree?”
“Then I find out the Revenant’s story. Every revenant has one and it’s the key to determining how to call it off.” McPherson shrugged, her elegant suit making the slightest of noises as the jacket of the smooth material moved. “Or I go home. Your call.”
Haddo considered this and successfully kept the smile from his face. If this imp thought a piece of paper sharing their names would be enough to break his hold over the Legion, then she greatly underestimated his power. To agree too quickly, though, would be to reveal too much, so he frowned and pushed a pencil across the ink blotter on his desk. Birdsong could be heard from the forest before he said, “Very well. I agree to your terms.”
“OK.” McPherson didn’t move to shake his hand, but put them in her pockets. “Well, you’d better get on buying that condo. I don’t start work until it’s in my name and I’d imagine that’ll take some time.” She hadn’t before, but McPherson smiled now. “And I don’t think you’ve got a lot of time left.”
“Very well.” Haddo rose. “Our business is concluded. Please leave the way you came. I thank you for coming all this way.”
Perplexing Haddo, McPherson’s smile grew broader. “That’s OK. This is a lot more interesting than I thought it would be.” Turning her back on him, she headed towards the door, pointing to his vitrine as she did. “When you brought me in here, I assumed it was to find out whoever stole your whachamacallit.”
Haddo blinked, stopping her with a, “Excuse me?”
McPherson’s smile peeked over her shoulder as did the twinkle in her eye. “The missing item in your little trophy case.” She strode over to the vitrine and pointed to the crushed velvet underneath the glass. Between the ceremonial dagger and brass skull, among the Records of Thule and the grotesque fertility sculpture, lie an outline of something long and thin that had once occupied space in the cabinet.
Perplexed beyond control, Haddo stood and moved to the vitrine, quickly confirming what his imp told him. Staring at the red velvet with its outline of his missing item, he found the words wanting to come out of his mouth to be too revealing. Unwilling to embarrass himself any further, he simply stood there. He found his control tested as McPherson added with barely concealed glee, “What? You didn’t know it was gone?” After a few moments of silence that Haddo could feel the detective savoring, she added, “I would have thought the first edition of Uralt Blut Boden Weisheit was the most valuable thing in here. What was taken?”
Haddo stood up straight and smoothed his ties and jacket that had become disheveled in his mad hobble over to the case. “Something I lent to an associate. Nothing you need to concern yourself over.”
“You sure?” McPherson cocked a plucked and incredulous eyebrow at him. “If I’m going to investigate your Revenant, I don’t want any surprises.”
“Yes.” Haddo gathered his dignity and began to move back to his desk. “I believe this concludes our business. You may go.”
Aggie shrugged, stuffed her hands back into her pockets, and walked towards the door. Haddo tried not to let the jaunty tune she was whistling bother him much.
Select the play button above for an audio reading. Image courtesy ofAnatolir56.
The magpie bird was considered good luck, until it wasn’t. Two of them, Bobbo and Lobbo, their black feathers highlighted with white, discussed this.
“You know,” Lobbo said, “why shouldn’t we be considered good luck? We’re very smart. Everyone says so.”
“True,” Bobbo replied, “but what does intelligence have to do with good luck?”
Lobbo pecked at the meal the pair were scavenging, giving that some thought. “Good point. Humans once associated us with Bacchus, though.”
“Also true,” Bobbo answered after swallowing his own piece of the meal. “But…you’ve met Bacchus. Good time? Yes. Good luck? Eh, maybe not so much.”
Lobbo hummed around his own mouthful then said, “Well, we make fine messengers.”
Bobbo plucked the eye from the fallen soldier the pair feasted on. As he swallowed it, he observed the battlefield they stood at the edges of, thinking of the days of scavenging it would provide. “You know, I’m not sure why they ever considered us good luck. It really is the other way around.”
Whatever courage had allowed her to speed her way here transformed into doubt as Nika stepped towards the warehouse. So faintly she could barely be heard over the cooling fans of the automobile, she questioned the darkness. “Lanzo?”
I restrained an urge to grab Nika and drag her inside. Fortunately, Lanzo pushed past me to embrace her. In the dark, I heard a relieved sob. I’m not sure who it came from.
I knew it wasn’t me, though. Adrenaline was crashing through my system, lighting up every part. I buzzed there until they separated, but only by inches, staying close to speak in quick and heavily accented English. Whatever Lanzo lacked in stalwartness was compensated by the relief of being reunited. In the dim light of neglected streetlamps I could see the two stare at each other with bright eyes.
I felt Sophie slip an arm into the crook of my elbow, her satisfaction radiating from her. This kept me in check while my brain screamed to get the pair off the street.
With Sophie’s arm in mine I was able to ignore it for an unfortunate amount of time. I only listened when three fast cars whipped around the corner at the top of the block. They nearly collided with each other in reckless desperation, leaving me with no doubt who was driving. I grabbed Nika and Lanzo, pushing them inside the warehouse before blistering white headlights fell onto the car parked out front.
I herded everyone towards the rear of the warehouse, having to restrain myself from slapping anyone who paused in the darkness. Fortunately, Sophie pushed ahead, little more than a pale phantom, moving with a speed and confidence that came from having carefully scouted the floor. Between the piles of broken boxes, scrap metal, garbage and old pallets, I hoped Nika had arrived in practical shoes.
We managed to get to the rear of the warehouse before we heard the first yelling in Russian. Sophie had pried open a back exit, sweeping her arm as if she could scoop the young lovers up and out of the warehouse.
I went first to make sure we kept Nika and Lanzo boxed between us. The alley out back was empty of everything but garbage and the distant sound of Slavic yells. I called out, “C’mon,” and led the way south, towards our destination.
I set a fast pace, confident Sophie would be ushering the pair behind me. The backstreets shown with a lunar glow. While I could hear shouting, there weren’t the jangling beams of flashlights, telling me Nika’s rapid departure from Mitnick’s had caught his men by surprise. Over the beating of my own heart their voices came from everywhere, making it impossible to judge how close they were. I left the revolver in my pocket, but led the way with the umbrella club, prepared to start swinging.
Which was good. Charging through an intersection, I collided with a Russian, like smacking into a bag of cement that fell to the street. In the confusion, I saw there were two more, leather jackets black holes in the moonlit alley. One opened his mouth to yell, but I clacked the steel of the umbrella across his chin before he knew what was in front of him.
He tumbled off his feet, and I pushed him into the third, their pale faces halting on that unexpected blowback. In the confusion, I got a good shot on another. I was lucky too – he had a pistol out already, but dropped it when I smashed the umbrella into his temple.
One surprised me by charging. Despite being half my size he was smart enough or crazy enough to know that its was his only chance. His fists were colliding with me before the pistol finished its bounce from the cobblestone.
The few seconds this was taking were already too many, sure to attract more, increasingly fatal, trouble. I couldn’t hear anything with the blood in my ears, but I didn’t waste time with words, knowing Sophie would keep the lovers moving.
I was silent, but the short Russian wasn’t, yelling and cursing. I tried to beat him to the ground, but he rolled his shoulders and took the blows, punching out to give as good as he got. I kept smashing down, and I could feel the strength of his blows lessening, until he grabbed me by the trench coat, dragging me with him.
It was the pistol that saved me. As we both crumbled towards the street, the Russian had a death grip on me that would have held long enough for reinforcements to arrive and usher me into hours of torture. But he glanced down and saw the pistol on the ground, and let go of me to dive for it. That left him exposed for the second I needed. I rained blows down on him, hearing the sound of bones and flesh give way.
When he stopped moving, I ran. In the dark, I heard distant yells get more distant as I moved further away and closer to Sophie.Â
I didn’t stop sweating, though. The spectral faces of the Russians floated in the back of my mind, chasing me down the alley. As I frantically tried to reimagine them from the information I had gleaned under the moonlight, I wondered how much had they had seen of me.
Select the play button above for an audio reading. Image courtesy of Vin Gattuso.
The archipelago of Nome was famous for the skill of its fishermen and its wizards. There were plenty of fishing folk who practiced hedge magic and plenty of wizards that fished, but few were equally competent at both. Unless you counted Bad Bart. He was his own equal in fishing and wizardry, which unfortunately meant he was terrible at both.
Which was the subject of the Council of Elders’ discussion. Each wise adult at the table knew that the Bad affixed to the Bart’s name had nothing to do with malfeasance of the hapless Bart, but the damage he did was still real. The sat in their stone chamber, dank with the smell of the sea, and discussed this.
Spotted and gray with age Harleg, impatient since the day he was born, let his frustrations show. “When Bart tried to call forth a northern wind to help my trawlers return to harbor faster, he sank half the fleet.”
Imogen, red of hair and kind of spirit, held her latest babe on her hip and said with an almost hidden smile, “Twasn’t long ago he thought he had found a new and secluded fishing spot.” She waggled a finger at her infant as if playing a game. “But it was a breeding ground for the codfolk, who promptly punched a hole in his boat.”
With his peaked hat and starry-robes, Theodore of the Rain (or of the Vain as he was called behind his back), spoke. “And while he rode others’ boats so he could feed his family, I had to quell three storms!”
“Did he try to bring forth the storms?” asked Gerald, lifting his voice as his legs could no longer raise him.Â
“No. It was just bad luck. The man is cursed!”
The Council of Elders muttered in agreement. They thought of Bart, absent from the chamber, brave but hesitant, intelligent but short-sighted, personable but a handful of bad luck for anyone around him. Each council member ruminated on what to do with a man who had committed no crime, but was a danger to everyone.
Gerald stroked his long red beard for a time until he proposed, “We know the Norsemen, those plunderers, are coming. Bart has volunteered to travel north and brave the icy waters to spy on them. Some say they have constructed an armada as never before, and may destroy us all. Best to know if that’s true.”
Each member of the council fell back to muttering, knowing that sending Bart alone would surely be as dangerous for him as the most competent among them. Then it was said, unknown by whom as it was stricken from the record, that if they let Bart go, at least they wouldn’t need worry about him while preparing for the piratical horde.
There was no ceremony, no sendoff, but Bart departed in the dead of night, as was appropriate for spying. In the weeks that followed, though, while Nome set about readying its boats and building fortifications in preparation for the invasion, no one heard nor saw of Nome’s spy.
Eventually, to everyone’s surprise and relief, the only thing they saw was Bad Bart returning alone. He floated home towards Nome in a slowly sinking Norsemen longboat, sail full of holes, a horned helmet on his head.Â
